Happiness in Slavery
by Yard of Blonde Girls
Summary: A human mechanic from Tatooine buys a twi'lek as a slave, much to the horror of his daughter. Femslash. **Updated: Chapter 3 now up. Incomplete.**
1. Chapter 1

Happiness in Slavery

Summary: A human merchant buys a twi'lek as a slave, much to the protest of his daughter. Femslash.

Author(s): better known as the pen name The Yard of Blonde Girls.

Rating: M. I'm not a porn writer, and I don't work for Hugh Hefner, so it's not too heavy. I think things left to the imagination are way sexier.

Timeline: Takes place during Attack of The Clones.

Cast: Anakin Skywalker, Padmé, and my own creations as listed below. Kala, a Twi'lek female, Tan Vaarkpart, a male humanoid mechanic from Tatooine, and Shmi'a, his defiant daughter. If you'd like to use them in either fic or art, I'd love you to shoot me a message first, just so the character descriptions stay consistent.

Disclaimer: The worlds, references and languages used in this work are the property of George Lucas, LucasArts, etc. No money is made from this in any way. The nature of the characters is a work of fiction and I do not mean any harm to the actors who may feature. The story title comes from a song of the same name by Nine Inch Nails, and is property of Trent Reznor and his people. And lastly, I don't own any of the inhabitants of these world except for Kala, Tan and Shmi'a.

Sidenote: If you notice any language inconsistencies or timeline events that are incorrect, please point them out to me. I try to reference most of my ideas on Wookieepedia to make sure they're vaguely factual, but sometimes I get caught up in my writing and forget. Thanks.

Chapter 1

Shmi'a Vaarkpart didn't know what to make of what she beheld in front of her.

A pair of heavy, steel chains hung low from the wall next to where the spare blankets were kept. She squatted down and took a moment to consider them, and recoiled when she reached out to feel their rough surface. They were ice-cold. They were welded to the wall in such a professional fashion that she didn't even question who had put them there. Her father, Tan Vaarkpart, was a mechanic by trade, and specialized in building cages for livestock out of welding scrap metals together.

The question was _why_.

The fact that the chains had shackles attached was not lost on Shmi'a, and her heart sank a little. To her father, owning a slave was a status symbol. And on a sad, poverty-stricken planet, it would _really_ mean something. But as a young woman whose ideas were starting to branch out on their own, Shmi'a felt it was wrong to keep someone in a cage. Very wrong.

The Republic had passed a law to prevent slavery, but that didn't stop the determined bottom-feeders determined to make a profit. Laws never did. And in somewhere as desolate and barren as Tatooine where the houses were mostly hidden below ground, it was easy to escape the laws of the Senate.

Even as these furious thoughts ticked through Shmi'a's head, she couldn't help but feel a strange, intense feeling that she hadn't felt in a long time; excitement. Tan was fiercely protective and kept men and any male species away from her, until the time came, he said, that she was to be betrothed. But there were no "respectable" men in the area, and they lived a long way from any sort of decent-sized civilization. Shmi'a couldn't help but wonder if perhaps her father was _buying_ her a suitor. Or at the very least, a companion. Shmi'a was certain that whatever the disposition of the slave in question, she would strive to make them feel as comfortable as possible.

Because, of course, there was no disagreeing to or protesting the final word of Tan Vaarkpart.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was black when Shmi'a opened her eyes. For a moment, confusion panicked her, and then she realized she must have fallen asleep on the cool, carved-out floor of the cellar after hanging out the wet washing in the blazing desert heat.

She felt around, trying to locate the gas lantern that usually sat in the corner of each underground room. Her hands slid over the floor's dry, feather-soft sand and up the legs of an old wooden chair. No, not this corner.

Shmi'a crawled to the other side of the room, her head down low to avoid any injury. Suddenly, her hand was resting on warm, wet sand. She jerked back in surprise and gasped.

"Who's there?" she croaked out.

A scuffling, and then a jarring metal sound.

_The chains_, thought Shmi'a, now remembering her afternoon's discovery. Her hands reached around, frantically searching for the hateful, metal prison her father had forged. Instead, her hands found a smooth, orb-shaped object surrounded by tin. The lantern. Shmi'a hurriedly turned the old crank on the side, and the dark corner of the cellar slowly filled with yellow light.

There, lying on its side, in a fetal position, was a twi'lek.

Shmi'a gasped. She had never before seen a twi'lek, and now she was face-to-face with one, in her own house. She may have been sheltered, but Shmi'a Vaarkpart was well-read, it was her father's rule for procuring a good husband. She knew that what lay before her was almost a mythical creature; common-place but revered for their astounding beauty. Most twi'leks were sold off as dancers or prostitutes. So why did her father want his own?

As the lantern's light increased, Shmi'a realised something that took her breath away.

"Your skin..." she croaked, startling the twi'lek. It whipped around into a protective sitting position, its' knees up, elbows straining to locked tight around them, but instead restrained straight above her head. The poor creature looked helpless.

"Please," she whispered, in a voice that was made of silk.

"It's alright," said Shmi'a softly, quick to reassure her. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not your... master. I didn't even know that you were here. I'm... I'm so sorry," she mumbled, looking up at the tight shackles. "Don't worry, I'm going to help you."

The twi'lek's sad eyes penetrated Shmi'a. She had to look away.

"Your skin," she started again, the long, slender thigh before her taking her eyes' attention away. "It's..."

"Turquoise," the twi'lek finished.

"You're a turquoise twi'lek? But... that's... that's amazing. I mean, I don't mean to be rude. I'm just.. it's... I've been very sheltered here. I'm lucky to see another human besides my father, but now, to see a twi'lek... and not just any, but..."

"Yes," it said dryly. "I'm a Rutian twi'lek."

"I'm sorry. You must think I'm a monster," Shmi'a blushed. "What's your name?" she asked, reaching up to attempt to loosen the shackles pinching the twi'lek's vivid skin.

"Havi," the twi'lek responded.

The familiarity of the name struck Shmi'a.

"Is that your, um, slave name, or your birth name?"

"It's the name I was given when I was shackled here. By what I assume, is your father."

Shmi'a shuddered. Havi was the name of her mother, who had passed away giving birth to her. She suddenly had no doubts about what her father intended to use this twi'lek slave for.

"I don't want to call you that. What's your real name?" Shmi'a asked softly, still working on the shackles.

"It's - ahh, thankyou, that feels better. My name is Kala. That's how I'm known when I speak to those from Coruscant, anyhow. Can I ask where I am?"

"Outer Tatooine, that's as much as I know," Shmi'a said apologetically, managing to release one of Kala's hands. "My father is scared that I'll run off, or ask a delivery boy to rescue me, so I'm not allowed to know our exact location."

Kala's eyes were filled with a knowing empathy. She placed her hand on Shmi'a's knee.

"I'm sorry for your unfortunate circumstance. That sounds awful. But I do thank all that is good that you are here. It gives me some hope," she smiled. "We must try to get out of here."

Shmi'a smiled back. "At all costs," she said, the smile melting. "My life depends on it."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The night had been long, and Shmi'a had barely slept a wink once she had returned to her room. She had tried her best to ensure that Kala was comfortable, warm and well hydrated, but the thought of her sleeping with one arm chained to the wall was devastating. It had made Shmi'a feel guilty. So guilty, in fact, that she had slept on the floor with only one blanket and no pillow. A silent protest. A fellow sufferer.

Once the sun rose, Shmi'a pulled her achy body off the hard desert floor and began her morning routine. Make the bed. Sweep her room. Collect the dirty clothes and linens in a basket, then leave the basket in the hall for her father to put out his own once he awoke. Despite having no job and not being the breadwinner, Shmi'a had gotten up before her father and prepared his breakfast since she was 5 years old. Her father was not a conventional man by any standards, and that went for his food.

Same thing, every meal.

Everyday, vegetable stew. It didn't really matter so much what the vegetables were, he settled for whatever was seasonal, and mostly anything that would grow either out in the sandy, hot countryside, or what Shmi'a could coax to grow in her cellar garden. Besides, everything tasted the same in the end anyway - undernourished, sandy and bland.

Shmi'a glared across the table at her father, silently. He just sat there, shoveling forkfuls of vegetables into his mouth, staring down at his plate. Shmi'a couldn't take the silence anymore.

"I saw that you put something up in the cellar, Father," she said, conversationally, as if an innocent child had happened upon something she didn't understand.

"I didn't want to tell you until I was sure," Tan spat, between forkfuls, "but I've secured us a working girl. The time will come soon where you'll find someone and I'll-"

"Father-"

"Now let me finish, Shmi'a. I'm a working man. Your mother looked after me until we lost her, and then the Skywalkers helped raise you until you were big enough to look after yourself... or well enough. If I hadn't had Shmi Skywalker around, I don't know what I would have done. You wouldn't have lasted a day, the state I was in over losing Havi." He pushed another hearty scoop of vegetable muck into his mouth. "She was a good woman, your mother. I wish you could have known her."

Shmi'a looked down at her plate. Yes, early life had been hard for her. Life in general hadn't been the adventure she read about in books. But she was lucky that the closest neighbouring family -Shmi Skywalker and her son Anakin - had had a fond spot for Tan after he had helped them escape a life of slavery. He had pitied Shmi, being alone with a young boy, and never having a son of his own, reached out to the family and included them in his own. His wife became close with Shmi over time, and when Havi passed away giving birth, Shmi thought it only right that she return the favour and help with the new baby girl. After all, Tan was incapable.

For days, weeks, months, it was impossible for Tan Vaarkpart to look at his daughter without bursting into tears, reminded of what he had lost.

"Tan," Shmi cooed softly one day, while nursing the infant Shmi'a with a bottle. "What if we named the baby after Havi? It would be a nice tribute."

"I can barely look at the child as it is, Shmi. I can't see any of my friends, everything just reminds me of her. You're the only one I can stand anymore!"

And so, Shmi'a was named after her guardian. Her tutor, for those first years. A mother figure, who rocked her to sleep, and mended her scraped knees. Everyday she would cook breakfast for Tan and then leave with the children for the day, and Anakin and Shmi'a would play in the sand, weaving tracks for his wooden cars while Shmi did the daily chores before returning back to feed Tan and put Shmi'a to bed. Shmi'a grew up thinking she _was_ a Skywalker, until abruptly one day, Shmi did not show up to pick her up. She and Anakin had been taken back into slavery and yet again, Shmi'a was left to fend for herself. Over the years, she eventually learned that Shmi had been re-sold to a man who freed and married her, and that Anakin had been taken in by the Jedi. Shmi'a always felt a little jealous of the fairytale ending that the boy she considered her "brother" had ended up with. One in a million. But she was proud, and thankful that at least someone could get out of this godforsaken desert alive.

"So this girl is going to look after the house, do labouring and chores?" Shmi'a asked, finally looking up at her father. "So then... why didn't you choose a boy? Why did you buy a _twi'lek_ slave?"

"I'm a simple man, Shmi'a. I'm not a dark, brooding schemer. And I'm not certainly not a pervert, if that's what you're implying. This girl is to work. And if she happens to be someone for you to talk to, then I didn't see that as such a bad bonus. I know I'm not the best company to keep, a crotchety old man like myself. You need someone... you need a friend. Another woman to talk to, for goodness' sake! I had hoped Shmi Skywalker would have been that over the years, but..."

"Yes, I know, Father."

"This twi'lek had been problematic for her last owner, so he gave me a bit of a bargain. Wasn't so much of a "sit down and shut up" kind of a slave as he'd have liked. She has her opinions about things, and she lets them be known. She's a hard worker, but she's also a pain in the backside. That's why I got the shackles, y'know, just to make sure we didn't lose her. Despite the bargain, she weren't cheap," he added, scarfing his last mouthful. "But I'd rather some personality and spark then one of those droids. Can't stand the things. They give me the creeps."

Shmi'a stood and cleared the plates while her father brushed food scraps off his vest.

"Bottom line is, I'm a decent man. She's safer here with me than in some two-bit bar belly-dancing for her living, with vultures drooling all over her. I can give her some semblance of dignity here."

"_Dignity_?"

"Don't give me lip, girl. A man has a right to some help about the place, especially a widower. Do you think I should just be left here to rot on my own?"

For the first time in her entire life, Shmi'a stopped what she was doing and walked to her room, slamming the door behind her.


End file.
